Widows marks stark departure for writer/director Steve McQueen, whose transition from crafting sublime artsier endeavors (Hunger,
Shame & 12 Years A Slave) to a star-studded genre feature offers mixed
results. ‘Widows’ does bear the film-maker’s intriguing aesthetic signature,
right from the brilliant opening frames. Yet the austere beauty found in the
visual presentation often gets lost due to an under-written script (which
McQueen co-wrote with novelist Gillian Flynn) and under-developed characters. Perhaps
the writing feels too rushed, inchoate, and incoherent because the film is
based on Lynda La Plante’s acclaimed British 1983 miniseries of the same name.
Naturally, the compression renders some scenarios and character sketches
ludicrous. Having moved the action to Chicago, McQueen and Flynn tries to tell
a very American story of race, disintegration and gender without forgetting to
check off the ‘heist’ narrative essentials (although the social commentary
falls flat at times or one could say it gets sacrificed in the altar of genre).
The very first scene in Widows cross-cuts between the
romantic interlude involving Veronica Rawlins (Viola Davis) and her husband,
Harry (Liam Neeson), and genuinely shocking deaths of a heist crew following a
bungled getaway, in which Harry is part of. McQueen once again cuts to the
elegant, white bedroom as the recently widowed Veronica feels the emptiness
within her while touching the cold bed-sheets. This is a trademark McQueen
sequence, which imbues tension and sets up the character’s emotionality through
unique set of expository details. The grief-stricken yet the sturdy Veronica
Rawlins is visited by Jamal Manning (Brian Tyree Henry), a crime lord looking to go legit by running alderman in a
turbulent Chicago ward. Jamal claims that he was the target of her husband’s
last job and demands two millions dollars, which supposedly went up in flames
alongside Harry and his crew.
Jamal gives Veronica thirty days to pay back. Moreover,
Jamal asks his brother/enforcer Jatemme (Daniel Kaluuya exuding bone-chilling
intensity) to follow her movements. After finding one of her husband’s
notebooks that provides details to his next heist, Veronica desperate to pay
off the debt, plans to pull off the job. She visits the widows of Harry’s gang
(Michelle Rodriguez and Elizabeth Debicki), who are all suffering under
financial strain, with the proposition of ‘one last job’ to settle in life.
Veronica’s plan is to steal five million dollars (as detailed in the plan), pay
back the Mannings and live happily ever after with the rest. Of course, the
widows being amateurs at this brings forth troubles and fate also keeps on
throwing curve-balls at them. Veronica’s plans crosses path with the powerful
local politician Jack Mulligan (Colin Farrell), who happens to be running for
alderman against Jamal Manning. Jack is the scion of a local political dynasty,
the alderman seat previously held by his mulish, racist father, Tom Mulligan
(Robert Duvall).
Steve McQueen’s visceral expression strives to mask some of
the dull and preposterous plot-points. And some of those auterial touches
easily overwhelms the nonsensical narrative textures. In one of the visually
and thematically fascinating flourishes, McQueen follows Jack Mulligan
traveling in his limo, who frustrated by the campaign event fulminates against
the broken nature of the ward. Interestingly, the director frames this scene
from outside the limo, the black-tinted windows hides the actors’ visage while
only the audio is heard. The ‘show-don’t-tell’ approach neatly foregrounds the
segregation, the limo in a matter of minutes moving from dilapidated streets to
the neighborhood of million-dollar mansions, while Jack’s ironical rants goes
on and on. Elsewhere, McQueen (and cinematographer Sean Bobbitt) puts mirror
imagery to good use, which either serves as entryways to the past or allows
characters to momentarily reflect on their circumstances. Some of McQueen’s
visual precision serves to ratchet up the shocking quotient of a scene. For
instance, the awkwardly included ‘police brutality’ sequence or when the
central twist is revealed.
The relentlessly engaging aesthetic beauty does its best to
carry the gravity of the subject matter and its social context. But the writing
waddles between embracing the genre demands and exhibiting its weighty themes.
Plenty of scenes and characterizations suffer from the hyper-contracted effort
of squeezing TV series plot-points into a two-hour movie. The talented ensemble
cast does their best to keep us engaged in the moment (actors like Debicki and
Farrell steal the show despite their characters’ limitations). The cast also
play well against each other, but the largeness of the material mostly reduces
them to glorified props. It is frustrating to see how the big twist in the
middle only serves to highlight the thematic preoccupation (an empowered women
breaking free of sinister men) rather than affect the narrative flow whatsoever. For a
popcorn movie, Widows is definitely good and complex. But it never comes close
to greatness like McQueen’s previous efforts. Maybe, Mr. McQueen is aware of
the criticisms that might follow his choice to take over this project. In one
of the film’s earlier scene, Tom Mulligan refers to his son Jack’s pricey
modern art as ‘$50,000 piece of wallpaper’. ‘It is art’ replies Jack, but his
dad stubbornly repeats the word ‘wallpaper’. For me, Steve McQueen’s Widows
(130 minutes) looks like a wallpaper with few artsy bits thrown in, although
some might consider it a wonderful art with great depth.
Trailer
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